


Softness Is Not Weakness

by acidicmilk



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, PTSD mentions, anxiety mentions, connor loves hank so much i really need 2 just die, it's just fluff dudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 20:43:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15251673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidicmilk/pseuds/acidicmilk
Summary: Connor thinks. He categorizes.





	Softness Is Not Weakness

**Author's Note:**

> hello i word vomitted this out at work while i was desk warming for three hours with nothing to do. it's short and bad and im sorry lmao

Connor, if anything, is analytical. Hes programmed to be that way, after all. About everything. He’s constantly monitoring Hank’s health, whether actively or passively; calories consumed, caffeine intake, how many drinks he’s had. Always trying to gently nudge him in the right direction --well. Sometimes not so gently (the time in which he poured out all of the whiskey in the house comes clearly to mind, easily accessed from his memory base). It’s always been solely with Hank’s health in mind, however. So he can stay around longer. 

That’s not to say he’s displeased with Hank’s body. He’s never once hated it-- in fact he’d always thought that Hank was handsome. Every part of him. Once or twice, when they had first started to be together, Hank had questioned him.

“Why’d you choose me? You could do so much better than a fat old man.”

“Because I love you. All of you.”

And he did. Still does. Forever will.

He thinks about his own body. Forever young. Hard plates masking themselves with flesh in an attempt to imitate the softness of human skin. And it does, to a fault. He has the surface capability of being so; but he’ll never be soft all the way through. 

He thinks about how comfortable Hank’s thigh is beneath his head as they lie together on the couch, Sumo’s weight warm across his own legs. How hard his own must be in comparison when their positions are exchanged (nevermind how common the occurrence is).

He thinks about his favourite of Hank’s old hoodies and how it completely engulfs him. How it smells like a mixture of Hank and Sumo and therefore like home. How he can feel at home even if he’s not there just by wearing it on a lazy Sunday grocery run.

He thinks about how warm Hank can be. About how it makes him ‘drowsy’-- makes his systems slow and want to go into rest mode. How sitting curled up next to him with the man’s arm around his shoulders or lying next to him in bed makes all the unending input of information seem to slow for a while.

He thinks about waking up in the middle of the night, his artificial heart in overdrive and systems all flashing bright red errors in his visual inputs, in his contact sensors, Amanda’s cold grip around his throat and a blizzard somehow colder than ice tearing at his skin, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, chest heaving without the need to breath and---. And. And about warm arms around him. About a quiet return to reality. About safety from a threat he himself cannot neutralize, that lives in his code now until who knows when. About not feeling scared anymore-- of who he is and how he feels.

“You okay?” comes the gruff voice from above him, large hand carding through his hair. He sounds as though he was very nearly asleep. The vitals Connor can pick up on say the same. “Your LED’s been flashin’ a mile a minute for a while now.”

Of course Hank would notice. The room is dark save for the glow of the TV and the light in his temple.

Connor glances up from his position, a small smile on the corner of his mouth. “I’m okay,” he murmurs, LED sliding into a cool blue. One hand reaches up and mimics the one in his own hair, gray strands threading through his fingers. “Thinking about some of the reasons I love my husband.”

Hank snorts and presses his hand down over Connor’s face. Connor feigns an insulted yelp as darkness covers his eyes, laughter bleeding into its edges, but doesn’t fail to notice the small dusting of pink on Hank’s cheeks before he can hide it, even in the low-light.

“Sappy ass android.”


End file.
